"I was just leaving.” She stepped around him and out into the hall.
"Right. Me too. Check out the restaurant together?"
She surrendered. “Sure.” It was probably about time for another client, anyway, and he looked likely to come up with a valuable offering.
"I think it's quickest if we take the escalator,” he said. “My name's Danny Woods, by the way."
"Josette,” she told him, without waiting to be asked. She made sure he stood above her on the escalator, and kept a couple of steps between them. Standard operating procedure. He was wearing black again, slacks, with a dark, piney-looking green plaid shirt. As he turned to smile down from the top, she noticed with surprise how broad his shoulders were.
The restaurant's entrance, swathed in pink and gold lace, looked promising. But when the hostess conducted them to their table, Josette saw that the flowers were false. Scrap silk and wire sewn with sequins. She made a show of examining the menu. Dramatically swooping script filled the pink cardboard pages.
Her eyes met Danny Woods'. “See anything interesting?” he asked her.
"Yes,” she admitted. “But nothing that I really want."
He grimaced, but his gaze stayed steady. He folded up the menu and laid it on the table. “You know, this"—he tapped the pink cardboard—"is just a list of suggestions. You're not bound by it, not by any means. If you know what you want, you should just say—"
A young woman in a pink uniform and shimmery gold stockings came up. “Good evening, and welcome to Chez Chatte.” Her voice squeaked and see-sawed, like a five-year-old in high-heels. “I'm Dee-Dee, and I'll be your server this evening. Have you made your selections?"
"I'll have your Caesar salad and a bowl of the minestrone soup,” said Danny Woods.
"And for the lady?"
"Flowers,” said Josette calmly.
"Flowers?” repeated Dee-Dee. “To eat? I'm not sure I.... Where do you see that on the menu?"
"I don't,” said Josette. “But I would very much appreciate it if you could bring me some."
Dee-Dee backed away from the table. “I'll have to ask,” she explained apologetically, then fled to the kitchen.
Danny Woods smiled a quick smile. “What's that make you, a floratarian?"
"No. I'm just not hungry, is all. Jet lag. I'll order out later."
"Where you from?"
"All over. And you?” she added quickly. It was a little harder than usual, but she managed to get the client talking about himself, his aims, pursuits, goals, methods of achieving them. Danny Woods was a building design engineer, which as far as she could tell was an architect, except that architects were to be despised. He was here for the conference on appropriate technology. He had a presentation to make, a red Camaro, at least three credit cards, and a secure position with a Boulder-based consulting firm.
He seemed genuinely interested in finding out what she did for a living. She told him fund-raising. Freelance.
His soup came. He ate it quietly and she slowed the pace of her questions to let him. He offered her bread, buttered it for her, touched the inside of her wrist somehow as he handed it over. Warmly, deliberately. He wanted her.
She decided he would do.
Dee-Dee brought her flowers with his salad: three red roses in a crystal bud vase, presented with professional aplomb on a white dinner plate. Viola liked lilies better, but these would certainly serve to fulfill Josette's promise. “Thank you,” she said. “They're lovely."
Dee-Dee beamed. “From the breakfast trays for tomorrow,” she explained. “Are you sure there's nothing else I can get you?"
Josette shook her head, but Danny Woods was nodding yes. “Actually,” he said, “I think you ought to just wrap this salad up to go and bring me the check.” He turned to Josette. “That all right?"
"If you pay for it? Sure, thanks."
The rest of the second floor was deserted. As they passed the empty function rooms, Josette caught glimpses of the shallow arcs of gleaming chair-backs scalloping the darkness, of ghostly white tablecloths beneath hollow urns.
He pressed the up button and they waited silently. He touched her wrist again just as the elevator chimed.
Inside, there was no one except for their reflections. She didn't look.
He was reaching for the controls. Josette put her hand over his, pulled it away from /16/ and made it push /12/ instead. “You can see me to my door,” she told him. Probably that would be all right. But Viola wouldn't want him to come in.
"Yes,” he said. He raised her hand to his mouth and lightly grazed her fingertips with the edges of his teeth. Then he continued down the side of her index, gently scraping against her skin, his warm breath a whispering echo of the caress. At the juncture between two fingers, he touched her with his tongue.
Josette was very still. Seconds passed and she remembered how to inhale. She got in a couple of hurried breaths, and then he kissed her. His lips were soft, barely brushing her passive mouth, then inquiring into the corners, sweet and strong and sudden and sure, sure that she would accept his offerings and take him, take him away from himself. And she could, she could do that....
His hands stroked the wings of her shoulder blades as if they were covered with angel feathers, and she shuddered against him and let go of the vase. It thumped down onto the elevator's carpeted floor and tumbled away, making soft bumping sounds. The bell chimed and the doors rolled open. Josette stepped back from Danny Woods. There was no resistance.
According to the indicator, they were on the eleventh. A short man in a beige suit got on. “Banquet level,” he said, facing the front.
"But we're going up,” said Danny Woods. Josette knelt to rescue the flowers. The short man watched her. She could tell, even with her back turned. The doors slid shut and they started back up without a word from him.
The vase was unharmed. The roses were still so tight, almost buds, that they were none the worse except for a little lint. If she got them in some more water soon, they would be fine. She stood. The beige-suit man looked away.
The bell chimed for the twelfth. Josette got off, with Danny Woods following. “Oh,” said the suit to the closing doors, “this is an up car, isn't it?"
They walked in silence through two turns and a long, straight stretch. At the door to 1213, Josette turned and spoke. Firmly, she hoped. “I'd better not invite you in."
"No?” The self-assured smile got backgrounded.
"No,” agreed Josette. She wanted, for the first time, to tell a client the truth. “I have—” She hesitated and he finished for her.
"—a lot of work to do. I understand. Me too."
Josette nodded. It was easier than trying to explain.
"You still gonna be here tomorrow? Tomorrow night?” asked Danny Woods.
"Sure. We could get together then."
"There's a banquet—"
"Oh, no,” said Josette. “I have other plans. But afterwards would be nice; say, nine o'clock?"
"Okay, I'll say nine o'clock.” The grin was in the foreground again. “Where?"
"Your room."
He gave her the number. He was going to kiss her again, but she already had her key out, and she was inside closing the door before he could do more than decide to try.
The white votive burned steadily, putting forth an even globe of light. Viola leaned forward as Josette walked towards the altar with the roses. “Oooh,” the doll said. “How gorgeous! Are they soft? Let me touch them.” She reached out one stocking-stuffed hand, but Josette reached past it and rubbed the red roses against Viola's cheek. “Mmmm,” she said. “Those are nice. Thank you, Aunt Josette."
Josette refilled the vase with warm water. She recut the stems, too, with the knife from her toolkit.
When the flowers were in place on the altar, it was time to think about food. Almost ten-thirty. She called room service and ordered “basketti” for Viola and a salad for Bunny and herself. As an afterthought, she asked them to include a copy of
Sunday's paper if any had come in yet.
She finished unpacking. Viola was in a talkative mood. She had made up a story about the house they were going to live in, and the garden they were going to grow, and all the toys and books she would have once they finally settled down.
"I have to work tomorrow night,” Josette announced. Viola was suddenly silent. The votive candle crackled, the flame spurting high, then dwindling to dimness. “I have to, Viola. It's been weeks since we turned in a new account number, and the last two didn't have anything worth putting in a flask. Besides, I think he's really nice."
"Ok-a-a-ay,” the doll said slowly. “But you're not going to do it here, are you?"
"No.” Josette winced to think of the one time she had tried that. It might be better for her own security, but it had scared her doll stiff.
"You like him?” asked Viola after a minute.
"Uh-hum. He's cute. His name is Danny Woods."
"What does he do?"
"Makes houses. Not builds them, but he makes the plans."
"He could make one for us, then. With secret passages!” Viola bounced a little with excitement at the thought. It was going to be all right.
The food came while she was standing in her flannel nightgown washing out her bras in the sink. The waiter was a slim man with a moustache. He looked Hispanic, so she didn't bother trying to hide her set-up. Odds were he'd figure it for some sort of Santeria, as long as Viola stayed still. Nothing that might necessitate calling a manager. Anyway, there wasn't going to be any trouble here, not of any sort. She'd spent the evening making sure of that.
She looked at the paper while they ate. The salad was good, romaine and spinach and buttercrunch, with a honey-Dijon dressing. She had to remind Viola several times not to slurp her noodles.
"But it's fun,” the doll protested. Her dry voice was querulous.
"But it's messy fun,” Josette told her. “You'll get stained."
The want ads contained a number of good-looking prospects. Josette circled them to check out tomorrow. She glanced at the clock radio. Make that later today, she thought. It would be wonderful to be able to adjust to one time zone.
"All right, squids. Bedtime.” She sponged spaghetti sauce from Viola's mouth and dressed her in her flannel nightie, a diminutive twin of Josette's own. She tucked the doll into her half of the bed, with Bunny at her side.
"Leave the candle on, please, Aunt Josette?” asked Viola.
"It's the last one. I'll have to fix another tomorrow night, when I get back."
"Oh. Okay. Well, then, good night."
"Good night, baby.” She kissed her doll on her soft forehead and Bunny on his fuzzy nose and then put out the light. After a while, she slept.
* * * *
Josette woke several times during the night. At last, at nine a.m., she decided it was late enough to get up.
On her way to the exercise room she found the maid, a woman barely taller than her service cart. Spanish, Josette decided. “No servicio por 1213,” she told her. “Por favor."
There were separate facilities for men and women, which was a relief. Mirrors again, of course, but she knew what she looked like. What other women saw. What men saw, too, even the ones who stared. They didn't do that because of her appearance. It was something they smelled, or sensed some other way. Something they wanted and sometimes got.
She took her time with her asanas and showered briefly. She wasn't even a tiny bit worried about Viola and Bunny alone up in the room. It was clean and safe. Even if her instructions to the maid hadn't stuck, her guardians would certainly be able to prevent any intrusion. She even stopped at the Chez Chatte on her way back up. They had a continental breakfast buffet. She helped herself to a plateful of boiled eggs and muffins and carried it up to the room.
It took a while to get everyone ready. Viola didn't have any winter clothes, and Josette's wool coat was a little thin, so they had to dress in layers. Of course, Bunny didn't have anything to wear. Josette decided to leave him there. “Rabbits aren't that interested in houses anyway,” she explained to her silent doll.
Josette called a cab and they went down to wait in the lobby. The black and green marble floor had been newly buffed and shimmered resplendently. Josette lost herself exploring the branches of stone rivers, of jade-filled chasms, of sap-filled veins in forests of onyx.
A blaring horn brought her back. It was the taxi. The driver, for a wonder, was a woman. A bit butch, in denim and nose-rings. White and plump as a pony beneath her denim cap. “Hi, I'm Holly,” she said, introducing herself. There was a plastic partition between the front seat and the back, but it was open. “And you two are...."
"Josette. Viola.” She waited nervously for Holly to ask to hold her doll. But the cabby made no comment. Josette strapped her doll into the seat next to her.
"Ready?” At Josette's nod, Holly put the cab in gear. “Where can I take you folks today?"
Josette handed her marked-up classified section through the partition. “We thought we'd take a look at some of these places. I've got a map, but maybe you know the best way to go to hit them all."
"Sure, Josette. This here's my turf."
Holly drove fast, braking smoothly when necessary, accelerating and turning as if dancing with herself. The deconstructed landscape of light poles and parking lots soon gave way to an actual neighborhood. Frame houses, mostly painted white, tried unsuccessfully to hide behind young, spindly trees.
"Used to be all elms,” Holly explained. “Some places they try to keep ‘em up, inject ‘em with fungicide every spring. Down on campus they do that, feed the stuff in through these plastic hoses. Goddam trees look like giant junkies noddin’ out."
There were three addresses in close proximity. Josette told Holly just to drive on by.
She got out of the cab at the next stop, a fieldstone bungalow with no yard to speak of, just so they could catch a breath of air. But most of what she'd circled in the paper they rolled right past: the wrought-aluminum porch rails, the train-crossing frontage, the sandstone split-level shoved up against a fried fish stand.
Late in the afternoon they came to an area of red brick houses. Josette's heart warmed itself in their glow. But there were no trees, not even immature ones, here. And one place was next to a convenience store, the other right across the street from a body shop with a chain-link fence and a big, gaunt dog. The dog barked nonstop as Holly used the driveway to turn the cab around. The angry sound followed them down the block.
They crossed a boulevard and suddenly everything was quiet and rich. Maples laced their twiggy fingers overhead. The lawns were longer, the streets and sidewalks completely clear of snow.
Holly pulled up before a beautiful house: two stories, brick, with a one-story white frame addition and an attached garage. “Are you sure this is it?” asked Josette.
"Well, yeah, and there's the sign says they're havin’ an open house today, even."
"Wait here, then, please, while I check it out."
"No problem."
Josette tucked Viola inside her coat just to be sure she'd stay warm, then stepped out of the cab and walked up the winding brick pathway to the house.
Beside the door she found a round black button, a crescent of light showing where it had not been painted over. She pushed it. Faintly, from within, came the sound of a silvery gong, two-toned. Then silence. She tried it again. More of the same.
She opened the storm door to knock, then realized how useless that would be. The bell was working; she'd heard it. As she shut the storm, though, the door itself swung slightly open. “Hello?” she called. No one answered. Hesitantly, she pulled the storm open again, and the door was sucked back into place. She touched the white-painted wood gently and it opened with a soft swish, brushing over light-colored carpet. “Hello?” she called again into the dark, still house. No answer.
She stepped inside and heard the storm's latch click shut. Instantly, its glass clouded with condensation. She stood in a
small foyer. A wooden table shared the space with her and an oval frame hung on the pale grey wall above it. Inside the frame was grey too. A mirror. She would have to pass it to see the rest of the house.
Easy enough. It was a lot smaller than the ones in the weight room or the elevator. But the dimness.... Dark mirrors especially sometimes showed her other things.
She closed her eyes. Maybe she could get by like that. But that would be cheating. She wasn't a cheater, and she didn't have anything to be afraid of anymore.
She left the door and faced the mirror, which had become slightly fogged due to the cold air. Through a faint mist she saw herself, looking no different than anyone else. Because what had been done to her didn't show. No one could see whether it had hurt or whether it had felt good. Or both. No one could see who he was, the one who had done those things. She knew that now, she really did. She didn't have to see that when she saw herself, either, if she tried.
If she tried, what she saw in the reflected dimness was what had come after that, the memories that she had made, the life she'd learned to live since, as an adult. With the help of the Women of the Doll.
She had heard about them in a magazine. She'd written the magazine, but no one there had known anything. The author was just a pseudonym, a canceled P.O. Box. But that was all right. Everything was all right, would always be all right, as long as she just stayed still. And she would always stay still.
How had they found her, eventually? Not through any move she'd made. In a bookstore, in the coffee bar, the woman waiting on her had said, “You look like you could use a little extra help.” At first the help had been talk. Then music, dancing, pretty things to wear. Then baths, and baths, and bells, ringing and ringing, and more baths. In salt, in milk, in chalk, in honey.
In the oval mirror, Josette saw a steaming tubful of gardenias, surrounded by women, arms reaching, hands dipping up fistfuls of soft, wet flowers. She saw herself, standing in the center of their circle, clothed in nothing but the heavy, heady scent, the heat, the sweat, the songs they sang as they scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed her skin with flowers, with white, with innocence. She saw a mirror in the mirror, the one they had held so often to her face, asking her to tell them what did she see, what did she see.
GUD Magazine Issue 1 :: Autumn 2007 Page 15